


Hands of Gold

by obscuriaal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, M/M, Object Insertion, PWP, what happens in dorne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:52:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscuriaal/pseuds/obscuriaal
Summary: Bronn is not a man to let a good opportunity pass him by.





	Hands of Gold

The Dorne heat did not agree with Bronn.

 

It seemed to press in upon him from every possible angle, hot and dry and uncomfortable, rendering all the clothing he owned unwearable and forcing him to push even the thin linen sheets off of his body in an attempt to find some modicum of comfort that might allow him to sleep. That in particular Bronn resented; he’d spent half his nights huddled on cold stony ground, clinging to whatever coverings he had for warmth, and now that he was housed in a semi-respectable establishment with a mattress and fresh bed dressing, they were of almost no use to him. And they called him criminal.

 

Jaime seemed to be faring little better beside him, and had been tossing and turning since they’d both made the vain effort of snuffing the candle and bedding down for the night. The blond man’s eyes were squeezed shut, but his face had taken on none of that guileless peace that Bronn enjoyed so much and of which he saw so little. Well, to be fair that wasn’t true- since he and Jaime had been fucking, he’d seen it far more often, in those slim, sublime moments after climax when Jaime was still caught in the undertow of his own waves of pleasure and the snarky brat he was used to had yet to surface.

 

It was evident neither of them would be getting much rest that night, and with that being the case, Bronn thought they might as well make the best of it. He rolled over onto one elbow and nudged Jaime with his knee. “Oi, princess.”

 

Jaime shoved at him and didn’t open his eyes. “ _No,_ shut up, I was almost asleep then- be quiet.”

 

“That’s a damn lie, and you know it,” Bronn replied, ran a hand down Jaime’s side, which dipped pleasingly at the waist, before settling on his hip. “Dunno how the fuck you expect to get to sleep when you’re still wearing all that shit.” _That shit_ being nothing more than a loose shirt, but it was an offence to Bronn’s sensibilities. Once you’d seen Jaime Lannister naked, it could never sit well to have him clothed again.

 

“At this rate I do not expect to,” he admitted, a low grumble into the pillow, and would have rolled away from Bronn had the sellsword not gripped his hip to prevent it.

 

He leaned low over Jaime to press a wet kiss to his skin that started at his neck and ended just below his collarbone, tasting salt on his tongue and rewarded with a little shiver and a pair of green eyes opening to meet his. “Best not waste the night laying apart like maids then, eh?”

 

“Someone could hear us,” Jaime protested, but without conviction. Bronn’s hand slipped to the edge of his shirt and to the nice curve of arse beneath it, grin crooked, and made short work of liberating Jaime from his cotton prison.

 

“This is Dorne, princess. That inkeep’d be more suspicious if he didn’t hear us fucking in here.”

 

Jaime didn’t require further convincing, it seemed, as he blushed and rolled onto his stomach, thighs already parted enough to let Bronn get at what he wanted. It had only been since they’d arrived in Dorne that the tension that had been simmering between them for years had boiled over, but it had not taken so long for Jaime to get the knack of things, despite his insistence that Bronn was the only man he’d taken to his bed.

 

“I hope you’ve got something; I will not have you fuck me dry in this heat,” he told Bronn, with all the gumption of a man who had not just rolled over and presented his arse to be fucked. Bronn huffed a laugh and moved away for a second to fish a little tin of oil from his things, which he liberally applied to two fingers that he plunged into Jaime’s waiting hole without further preamble.

 

The first few times, Jaime had hissed and cursed him at two, but now his digits slipped in without any trouble at all, and it took adding a third to elicit the first gasp into the pillow from Jaime. There was a thud as he grabbed the pillow with one hand, and knocked the headboard hard with the other.

 

The fucking _other_.

 

“How many times have I fuckin told you to take that thing off at night, you dumb cunt?” Bronn grumbled, and withdrew his own distinctly shiny hand to relieve Jaime of the golden one, while Jaime whined under him.

 

“Would you at least finish fucking me before you start to lecture? By the gods, one would think I were in your employ and not the reverse.”

 

“If it were me paying you I’d make sure you were much better behaved,” Bronn promised him, setting the hand down beside Jaime’s thigh, taut with the effort of angling his arse for Bronn’s hand. But as he reached for more of the oil, now fully seated against the backs of the other man’s legs, his eyes flitted back to the prosthetic, and then back to the now-slick entrance before him.

 

“I’ll be better behaved when you stop- _what the hell is that?_ ”

 

“Shh, princess. Ain’t you never wondered what it would feel like?”

 

Jaime squirmed underneath him, but he wasn’t a match for Bronn’s body weight and the hard press of the man’s hand between his shoulder blades, forcing Jaime’s face into the sheets. “By the gods Bronn you cannot be serious, there is no way in the seven hells I can- _fuck!_ ”

 

The problem was that the fingers were not exactly dextrous, nor could they be separated from one another. Luckily Bronn of the Blackwater was not a man easily discouraged. He’d emptied almost all the remaining oil onto the metal fingers of Jaime’s hand and now teased it back and forth over his entrance, pressing in just hard enough to make use of the existing stretch but no more. Yet. He’d give him a moment to get used to that first. “Relax- you’ll only make it hurt if you tense up like that.”

 

“Relax!? You’re-”

 

“Fucking you with your own golden hand? Don’t pretend the thought doesn’t excite you a little bit, princess?” Jaime wasn’t making much effort to get away after all, and once you’d heard the man beg to suck your cock with his face red from the shame of his own desire, it became quite easy to detect when he was protesting for his own vanity rather than a genuine reluctance. Bronn stopped holding him down and slipped his own fingers alongside the metal ones to scissor the opening a little more, enough to push the tips of the first two fingers of the hand inside.

 

“It’s not going to _fit_ ,” Jaime whimpered into the pillow, skin glistening from the heat and the exertion of trying to convince a usually uncooperative ring of muscle to go along with the sellsword’s madcap plan.

 

Admittedly, that was a concern, but Jaime didn’t have the view Bronn did in that moment; the kingsguard’s back was arched beautifully and pushing back against the intrusion, opening up to accept a little more. Bronn squeezed his cheek hard and worked the object back and forth with the same intensity and dedication that one might expect from a craftsman, with Jaime’s body as both his instrument and his product.

 

He was in no hurry- they had all night, and listening to Jaime’s plaintive little moans as he worked him open served only to spur Bronn on. It took the better part of two hours to coax Jaime’s straining hole into taking the fourth finger, and when the slick, unforgiving digit breached him the blond cried out loud enough that the occupant of the next room banged a reprimand on the wall. Bronn grinned sharkishly, running his finger around the circumference. “Would you look at that,” he marvelled, voice dark with pleasure. “Wish I could show you, princess. ’S fuckin’ filthy how good you look right now, all stretched like that. You’re gonna be limpin’ the rest of the way to the Water Gardens, love.”

 

“Bronn-”

 

He didn’t find out what Jaime had been about to say, his words tapering into a strangled yell when Bronn renewed his force on the hand and inched the fingers into him, stopping only when Jaime’s own golden thumb was pressed Into his cheek with enough pressure to bruise. He hoped to leave plenty of marks on Jaime before the night was done, and his pale skin was always keen to accommodate.

 

“That’s it sweetling, take it,” he murmured, beginning to slide the hand back and forth, slowly but surely. He palmed himself with his free hand, cock already very much at attention; it would be a miracle if he managed to last long enough to fuck Jaime properly tonight, but judging by the wanton moans and gasps from the man under him, he didn’t think he would mind too much either way. He wasn’t sure Jaime was even aware of the way he was grinding into the sheets; when he reached down and turned Jaime’s face to the side to administer a sloppy kiss, his eyes were half closed and unfocussed. _There_ was that lovely face he so enjoyed.

 

Before long, Bronn’s own control was slipping, but not so much so that he could claim the long ropes of come that he splattered over Jaime’s arse were accidental. In a haze, he smeared this over Jaime’s skin with one hand while he withdrew the hand with the other, and made sure to push as much into the now-empty hole as he could. Jaime was a little swollen; Bronn could think of no better balm.

 

Spent, he flopped down next to his lover, rolling Jaime’s boneless body into his while they both caught their breath. He reached for the blond’s groin with a view to finishing him off, but found that quite unnecessary. “Mm, looks like you’ve left yet another mess for someone else to clean up,” he murmured into Jaime’s ear, but did not receive an intelligible response. It always took a little time for the knight’s senses to return to him after a good fuck, and Bronn had no desire to hurry that process along. ‘Bet when your sister had that thing made, she never could’ve imagined a lowborn cunt like me’d be fucking your whore arse with it, could she? You take it so well, princess, maybe that’s what it’s really meant for.”

 

“You’re an _arsehole_ ,” Jaime murmured sleepily, tucking himself into Bronn. Despite the heat and the sweat, neither was quite ready to move apart and to burst their little bubble before it was necessary. And it seemed possible for the first time that night that they might catch a little sleep before sunrise.

 

As he drifted, an unbidden melody overtook his thoughts, and Bronn let out a breath of a laugh. _For hands of gold are always cold-_ he’d have to ask Jaime’s thoughts on the matter in the morning.


End file.
